


Warning Signs

by LazyAdmiral



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Orsino lives, Blood Magic (Dragon Age), Felix Alexius - Freeform, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29246004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyAdmiral/pseuds/LazyAdmiral
Summary: The magister had never considered himself a particularly proud man, at least not by the typical standards of his peers. But here, quietly tinkering with bottles of increasingly useless herbs, dragon’s blood and sundry other things in a dark and draughty Fereldan castle, far away from the comforts of home, a small piece of him wondered at how far he had fallen.-Alexius came to the South with one purpose: to save the life of his son, no matter what it cost him to do so. He never expected to find something else worth living for in the process.[Slow-burn poly romance, updates every fortnight]
Relationships: Gereon Alexius/OC, Gereon Alexius/Orsino, Gereon Alexius/Orsino/OC, Orsino/OC
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Redcliffe

Alexius’ hands moved through the familiar motions almost of their own accord, glass bottles clinking quietly together as he added one ingredient after another. It was a recipe honed over the last three years in painstaking detail; weeks and months of research and experimentation resulting in a blend of magic and herbalism that he had adjusted again and again for the perfect balance.

All that work, and it hardly mattered. Felix was still dying. All his tinctures and potions did now was hold back the tide.

The magister had never considered himself a particularly proud man, at least not by the typical standards of his peers. But here, quietly tinkering with bottles of increasingly useless herbs, dragon’s blood and sundry other things in a dark and draughty Fereldan castle, far away from the comforts of home, a small piece of him wondered at how far he had fallen.

By rights, his mind should have been on his earlier encounter with the so-called _Herald of Andraste_. An elven woman, perhaps a decade and change his junior, marked with the curious tattoos he understood were favoured by the nomadic Dalish, Lavellan was a simple puzzle that required little thought to solve – brash and aggressive behind a veneer of humour and charm, untrusting but in dire need of the mages now under his command. She was no divine saviour, just a woman caught up in the exact sort of heathen nonsense his homeland loved to sneer about. And when she came to him to negotiate access to the rebel mages – and she would, he had no doubt of that – he would ensure she was no longer even that.

A flick of the wrist and a faint wisp of magic settled over the surface of the mixture, warming it to the required temperature. Alexius spared a moment to glance away from his makeshift workbench, towards the bed where his son dozed, recovering after his near-collapse in the tavern.

Alexius shook his head, more at himself than anything. He should never have brought Felix down to the village. Maker knew it had taken several days after their journey down from Tevinter for his son to regain his strength.

“I’ve been cooped up in this castle for _days_ , Father,” Felix had insisted at the time, giving him a look that had won his father over far too many times when he was a boy. “And given how many of these cultists would gleefully stab us both in the back if it made them look better, I’d rather stay with you.”

He’d frowned at the words at the time, but here in the quiet of his own thoughts, he still couldn’t say he disagreed with him. The Venatori was a writhing viper’s nest, filled with enough fanatical zealots and ruthless cut-throats to put the Magisterium to shame. He’d only lasted this long, he imagined, because no one else had even the slightest hope of recreating his work with time magic. Well, no one who would submit themselves to the Elder One’s orders, at any rate.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he’d ever been so certain of his own moral compass as Dorian was. He hoped, at least, that his former student’s sense of integrity would never be tested the way his had, even if he’d have given almost anything for someone to assist in his research, now ground to a near standstill.

Putting the finishing touches to the medicine, Alexius carefully poured a dose into the prepared cup. He approached the bed, hesitating briefly before taking a seat on its edge, not quite willing to disturb Felix’s slumber – but it hardly mattered. The straw mattress had barely shifted under his weight before Felix began to blink groggily, peering up at him.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to doze off like that,” he murmured as he moved to sit up against the pillows, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. He gave his father a lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Spent too long reading last night, I suppose.”

“You always did want just one more chapter,” Alexius admitted, tone fond as he recalled brighter evenings, sat at his son’s bedside reading through some fantastical tale of heroes and monsters. Felix had been so young then, still practically at his knee.

His whole life ahead of him.

Alexius swallowed past the piercing ache in his chest, forcing something approximating a smile as he offered the cup. “Here. I’ve made a fresh batch.”

Felix’s face pulled into a familiar grimace at the sight of the cup, even if he covered it quickly with a wry smile.

“Don’t suppose you added any sugar this time?” he quipped as he took it, tilting the cup to look at the contents.

“I’m afraid not,” Alexius admitted.

It was a joke, of course, but he _had_ looked into trying to make the concoction more palatable. Bad enough to watch his son shrink before his eyes, the last thing he wanted was to bring him any more misery, however slight. So far, his attempts had been unsuccessful and despite the lightness of Felix’s tone, Alexius couldn’t miss the wrinkle in his brow as he drained the cup, mouth tight as he set it down on the night-stand.

He should have been proud at his son’s strength in the face of this, he knew. He could hardly say he would have carried the horror of the attack, and the subsequent loss of Livia and his health with the same grace and dignity Felix had shown. But the longer time went on, the longer he had to watch as dark bruises formed under Felix's eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks, the harder it was not to feel ashamed by it. It was old guilt, perhaps, but no easier to live with now than it was in those first dark, desperate days since he had lost his wife and been told of the fate awaiting his son. If nothing else, it was a reminder of why he must continue on the path before him.

“You don’t need to stay, you know,” Felix interrupted his thoughts, lying back against the pillows once more. He frowned, looking past him towards the fireplace. “I know you have _important_ work to do.”

Alexius’ lips flattened into a thin line, brow furrowing.

"Nothing that will not keep," he insisted, ignoring the implication in Felix's tone. He was under no illusions about his son's disagreement with their current situation, or with the task given to him. But he could withstand Felix's ire and disappointment in him if it was the price for the Elder One saving him. "I would rather make sure you're well after… after this afternoon," he added softly.

Something inscrutable shifted across Felix’s face then, and with it came a now-familiar feeling that he was no longer able to read his son quite the way he used to.

“What did you think of her? The Herald, I mean,” Felix asked suddenly, looking back to him.

Alexius frowned, wary of the change of subject.

“I can’t say I paid her much thought,” he offered with a measure of honesty. “She seems to be a stranger here as much as we are. I can’t say I envy her position.”

Felix’s gaze turned apprehensive, a faint line appearing between his brows.

“Did she look… _familiar_ to you?”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Not particularly. Should she have?”

In response, Felix’s frown deepened and he glanced away with another of those impenetrable looks before shaking his head.

“No, I suppose not. I thought she looked like someone… it’s doesn’t matter,” he finished softly, shaking his head.

The silence hung between them, deeper and wider than any ocean and Alexius found himself at a loss at how to cross it.

“Whoever she is, she doesn’t deserve what’s coming. And certainly not because of me.”

Felix’s words were quiet, but he heard every one of them as if they had been a scream. He knew Felix carried his own guilt – guilt that he had survived where Livia hadn’t, guilt for his failing health and what it had cost them both. But the last thing Alexius wanted was for his son to carry the weight of this… this task that lay with him, and him alone.

“Felix, this was never your fault,” he insisted. He reached out, intending to comfort him and barely hiding a wince as Felix flinched away, expression grim as he stared into the glowing fireplace.

“Isn’t it?” he muttered, mouth twisting around the words. “You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. We both know that.”

Alexius had no answer to that – or at least, no answer he could give that wouldn’t be either a lie or confirmation of what Felix feared. Instead, he sat, staring at the wounded young man his son had become and if he still believed in a Maker, he’d have cursed him until his dying breath for allowing his son to suffer like this. But it would have been no more than he cursed himself either.

Even if Felix hated him in the end, it did not matter. The Elder One had promised his son would live, and so Alexius would do whatever he asked. No matter the cost.

Felix remained quiet and distracted after that, the air heavy and resigned in the dim room. After much insistence, Alexius had reluctantly left him with advice to rest and recover his strength a little. Retiring to the rooms he’d claimed as his own, he attempted to distract himself with the scrawled reports awaiting him on his desk, grim as their own contents may be. But the conversation lingered in his mind, settling over him like a shroud.

He’d known Felix was unhappy with the deal he had made to save his life. But surely he knew if they tried to turn back now, even if they weren’t killed in the attempt, then eventually Felix would still…

Not for the first time, he wondered how things might have been had Livia survived, or if he had been there to take her place. His beloved had been as stubborn as she was brilliant; she would undoubtedly have found a way to save Felix long before now. Instead, the task was left to him, and the longer time went on, the more he realised how woefully ill-equipped he was for it.

Alexius grimaced, grief and regret tasting like bile in the back of his throat.

He would not sit back and watch his son _die!_ Not when there was anything still left that he could do about it.

He did his best to focus on his work for the Venatori, noting intelligence from their scouts about the Inquisition’s movements through the Hinterlands, spreading their influence where they went. But when the third report – an account in lurid, almost _gleeful_ detail about their results seeking the mysterious shards, and the fate of some of the Tranquil Alexius had already set running from Redcliffe – turned his stomach more than he could ultimately bear, he finally gave in for the evening, tidying his desk and moving to one of the stuffed chairs by the fireside.

To one side, a short table sat stacked with half a dozen texts he'd borrowed from the rebels' meagre library – originally out of a vain hope that there might be some insight into furthering his efforts in manipulating the events of the Conclave, but now mostly out of a sense of morbid curiosity. What he'd see so far of the Southern Circle's standards of academic research had been woefully lacking, and many of those who dared to call themselves 'Senior Enchanters' had barely more skill or wit than some of his youngest apprentices. There had been a few exceptions, and he'd noted the names of those who'd shown promise, who might fare better as researchers rather than as fodder to bolster the Venatori's ranks; but he'd refrained so far from inviting any of them to assist with his own work, unconvinced that those who could understand the work would agree to help with it.

After sending for wine – with the request that the servants at least _attempt_ to find something of some quality and didn’t come with the aftertaste of mud – he plucked the first tome from the pile and hoped a little righteous indignation might at least settle his mood.

Instead, he was pleasantly surprised. True, the research into measuring Veil strength and its impact on various schools of spell-casting was somewhat basic – he was certain Livia had published something of a similar nature perhaps some fifteen years back – but it read well and acknowledged areas lacking in the study, as well as several hypotheses that tied remarkably close to his own work. There was an understanding of the theory that went far beyond rote and he’d barely finished the first chapter before flipping back to check the name of the author.

 _A. Faber_. _Senior Enchanter at Kinloch Hold, Ferelden, 9.29._

The name rang familiar, although not enough for him to draw a face to match the name. Perhaps one of the rebels?

Alexius was startled from his thoughts by a sharp rap at the door. He sighed, frowning at the varnished wood.

“Come in.”

The door swung open, revealing one of the guards and–

“Enchanter Orsino,” Alexius remarked, raising an eyebrow as he set the book aside, pages down on the table. “Back for another scintillating debate where you impress upon me how much of a monster I am? It’s getting rather late in the evening, I’m afraid.”

The elven man’s mouth flattened into a tight line, but he strode into the room regardless, not waiting for an invitation.

“You did say your door was open,” came the drawling reply, with a delicately arched brow that made it quite clear Orsino knew Alexius had been facetious with the offer when he made it. “It’s hardly my fault you didn’t stipulate office hours, or that you were absent when I checked earlier,”

Despite his poor mood, Alexius had to hold back a smirk at that. In the short time he’d known him, he’d quickly realised Orsino was nothing if not a master at games of malicious compliance. Still, his regular visits to rant and rail at him made the long days in this draughty old castle go a little faster. And though he'd be loathed to admit it, he often welcomed the distraction.

“Very well. Take a seat and let’s hear the latest list of grievances then.”

He gestured towards the other chair at the fireplace before dismissing the guard. While the guard nodded and left as bid, there was a distinct air of disapproval to it – a hesitation before the man turned, a tilt in his head as his barely-concealed glare lingered on the elf's back. Alexius paid it little mind. It was a small surprise his compatriots within the Venatori felt very little by way of respect or empathy for the Southern rebels, and even less need to entertain their protests and complaints. He himself had no intention of swaying from his course, but the First Enchanter had been a particularly stubborn thorn in his side, and strangely, he rather admired the man's tenacity.

It had been a long time since he’d had a worthy argument with someone with the wit and reason to hold their own. In another life, Alexius imagined he might even have liked him.

Orsino, for his part, lingered where he stood for a moment longer than necessary before taking the offered seat, as if making it clear this was a choice and not obedience. In the stark shadows cast by the firelight, he looked pale and sharp, like whittled bone; an effect only emphasised by the dark robes and gloves he wore. They lacked the ornamentation Alexius had noted on the clothing of the other First Enchanters, and covered him utterly, leaving bare only his head and the tips of his forefingers and thumbs – a concession to an academic’s life, perhaps.

“Wine?” he offered as Orsino settled in the chair.

“No, thank you.”

Alexius nodded. “A wise choice. I trust your students are doing well?”

Orsino made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. Sensing the oncoming complaint, Alexius leaned back in his own chair and gave the man a facsimile of a smile, waiting.

“Your… _agents_ ,” Orsino began, lips curling on the word, “have been interfering with our lessons.”

"Oh? In what way?" he replied, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.

It only earned him a scathing glare, one that almost had him smirking.

“Interrupting, usually – correcting the Enchanters leading the lesson or making some mockery of what is being taught,” Orsino continued. “I recall you made it clear when you first arrived that your people were there to observe only, yet I’ve met adolescents with more self-restraint.”

Alexius chuckled. “You can hardly blame my countrymen for being dismayed at the state of education in the South. You have said yourself, the Circles here were hardly beacons of learning.”

“Which we are working to rectify, unless you have forgotten why we've been so gracious as to consider your offer," Orsino spat back at him. "If your people are truly so horrified at the quality of education, perhaps they can offer assistance in a way that is marginally more constructive than slinging playground insults. Either that or they can remove themselves if they find they are unable to keep their tongues still – unless manners are also something foreign to the Imperium?"

Alexius offered a thin smile, studying the man in front of him. There was a curious stillness in the way he held himself, posture stern and proper while the flicker of tightly leashed mana leached out, like an angry cat puffing its fur to seem more intimidating. Unlike a cat, however, he suspected Orsino had something far more deadly than claws at his fingertips.

“Consider your concerns noted,” he replied after a moment, tone light as he reached for his glass, only to repress a wince at the acidic taste. “I confess, however, I’m surprised Fiona didn’t bring the matter up herself – if it has clearly become _such_ a disturbance.”

Orsino’s eyes narrowed. “Fiona has… not been herself.”

Alexius’ lips twitched, although whether in a smile or a grimace even he wasn’t sure.

The Elder One had suspected that the rebel mages would not bend to their requirements easily and had given Alexius a gift to ease negotiations. A compulsion, bound to the ring now in place on his dominant hand. It was an insidious thing, not designed to overwhelm the will of another but to make it more pliable, to open a mind to suggestion more easily. So far, he had only found two targets the compulsion had failed to work on.

The usurper ‘Herald’, and Orsino.

The first, he suspected, was a result of the stolen mark she carried – although the Herald apparently carried no magic herself, her hand reeked of power beyond what any normal mage could, or should, possess. But Orsino…

He’d resorted to many things in the last few years, magics he’d never considered, would never have wanted to consider, and it had left him with a curious sense for such things. The ring on his hand, for example, positively dripped with the echoes of blood magic. And the man in front of him held a similar air, a hint of shadow at the edges of his magic, notes of something deeper and earthier than Fade magic.

Still, no sense showing his hand just yet. It may yet prove useful, should Orsino’s stubbornness grow intolerable.

“I confess, I find myself curious regarding your attitude,” Alexius admitted after a moment, letting Orsino’s concern go unremarked for now. “Many of your fellow mages have expressed a great deal of interest in the opportunities Tevinter could offer them – no more hiding and hoping to avoid Chantry chastisement, freedom to study magic without limit, normal lives with families, lovers, children even. Do you not share their desires?”

Orsino’s stare was cool and even.

“What I desire for myself is none of your concern,” he replied smoothly, before narrowing his eyes at the magister. “But I do wonder if you’ve been _completely_ honest with my fellow mages about what exactly awaits them in the Imperium.”

Ah yes, Orsino's favourite accusation – that all Alexius' promises of freedom and protection were nothing but pretty falsities. That it was true was neither here nor there, but what did trouble him was the degree of certainty with which he levelled the argument, as if his justification was based on more than fear-mongering and rumour. Perhaps now was the time to find out.

Taking another drink – no, it really didn’t taste any better the second time – Alexius considered his words.

“But you said yourself you’ve never visited Tevinter,” Alexius noted, tone resigned. “I admit, despite our differences, I had thought you better than one of those sops who ate up every lie coming from the throne in Val Royeaux.”

To his surprise, Orsino smirked – a sharp curl at the corner of his lips, eyes glowing in the dim light.

“I suppose I’ll take the compliment, however backhanded. But to answer your obvious question, my information comes from a valued friend, and I’m afraid I trust her warnings far more than your promises.”

“A pity.”

Alexius bit back a sigh, suddenly tired of the conversation. There were only so many times he could defend his actions before the words sounded false to his own ears, and he was reaching his limit for the day, it seemed. He was on the verge of asking Orsino to leave if he had nothing else to complain about for the evening when his gaze landed on the open book on the table next to him, and curiosity prodded at him.

“I don’t suppose you’re familiar with Veil mechanics?”

To his satisfaction, there was a brief flicker of surprise over Orsino’s face – too fast, he imagined, for anyone not skilled in watching for the reactions of those around them, but enough for Alexius to catch it. Then it was gone, and Orsino gave a single, curt nod.

“Of course. The Veil around the Gallows is notoriously thin, and Kirkwall Circle specialised in several schools focusing on manipulating the Veil and the Fade. Why do you ask?”

Orsino’s tone was politely suspicious, which was perhaps understandable. Alexius plucked the book from the table and offered it to him.

"I was wondering if you were familiar with the author," he explained as Orsino took the book. "I’m looking for an assistant with some research and it would make my life a great deal easier if you knew if this Enchanter Faber was amongst the rebel mages a–”

“No.”

Alexius blinked, startled by the interruption. He stared at Orsino, who was still looking at the cover with an almost bored expression. But the longer he looked, the longer it seemed _off_ , that curious stillness from earlier filling the room.

He leaned back in his chair, watching Orsino closely. “No, you aren’t familiar with them? Or no, they’re not amongst the rebels?”

Orsino handed him back the book.

“I’m familiar with her work, but we’ve never met,” he replied with a vague shrug and the same disinterested stare.

There were several skills Alexius had had to acquire when he'd taken his father's seat in the Magisterium so many years ago. The ability to charm and coerce, a talent for rhetoric, the art of knowing which favours could buy him support and which could ruin him – all were vital in making headway in his particular causes and in earning the votes of his peers. But perhaps the most necessary of all had been learning when to tell when he was being lied to.

And right now, Orsino was almost certainly trying to deceive him. The question was to what purpose?

It was a small matter – in the grand scheme of things, he would have likely forgotten the woman’s name by morning and have never noticed it. But after finally sending Orsino on his way, no doubt for him to return tomorrow with another argument or insult or accusation, Alexius filed the information away for future reference with the lingering sense that the First Enchanter was going to continue causing him trouble, whether he liked it or not.

One thing was certain. If a Maker existed at all, He was most definitely mocking him.


	2. An Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world did not move around him. Everything remained exactly as it was and yet between one breath and the next, everything seemed to tilt, the ground falling out beneath him before it snapped back into focus. He stared, heart-pounding, at the familiar shelves and books; a sight he’d seen a thousand times, it was as familiar to him as his own home. And he knew, as certainly as he knew anything, that none of it was real. This was not the Minrathous Circle.
> 
> He hadn’t set foot in Minrathous in months.
> 
> -
> 
> After the failure at Redcliffe, Alexius receives a visitor and an offer he’s not sure he can refuse.

It was getting late.

The library in the Minrathous Circle was empty as he roamed the endless stacks, not a sleep-deprived apprentice poring over last-minute assignments to be seen. By all rights, Alexius shouldn’t have been there himself, but his latest theory was just too tantalising to set aside easily; besides, with Livia visiting Felix in Val Royeaux, home lacked much of its customary warmth. She would chide him, no doubt, when she returned to find he’d slipped back into old habits in her absence. How many mornings as students had she found him, half-asleep at breakfast after a night spent reading into the wee hours? Too many to count, really, and he remembered the earful she’d given him each and every time – along with nudging a pot of strong coffee in his direction.

It had taken him far too long to realise her tongue-lashing in those days was a mask for something warmer. Thankfully, older and a little wiser in the ways of his wife, he merely looked forward to hearing her voice once more. And perhaps kissing that charming scowl from her lips.

His eyes drifted over the book-lined shelves – some of them older than himself, leather binding and gold lettering nearly worn to dust by time – uncertain quite what he was looking for, but knowing it had to be here.

Slowly, he became aware of footsteps.

He paused. Despite the late hour, it wasn’t uncommon for a student to stay late to study or even for one of his peers in the Circle to linger, searching out some record or reference to bolster their most recent proposal (or a new trick to throw off their rivals). True, he hadn’t seen anyone when he had entered and the heavy wooden doors had remained silent, but it wasn’t unknown for several people to spend hours working here and never cross paths with the others even once.

Still, something had him on edge, and he knew better than to ignore his instincts. Taking a book from the nearest shelf, he pretended to flip through the pages while watching the near end of the stack, where the footsteps drew nearer.

It had been a while since one of his rivals had sent an assassin after him. Perhaps it might liven his evening a little.

The footsteps neared – sharp and light against the marble floors, whoever it was had no qualms about being heard – and Alexius had already made several plans on how to dismiss his would-be attacker when they – _she_ – turned the corner.

Any assumptions of the stranger being a late-studying apprentice were dismissed by the dash of grey in the woman’s neatly-bound red hair. She was an elf, perhaps a good head shorter than himself, and while neither of those things precluded her being some variation of hired blade, the tailored robes she wore did. They were black as ink and well-made, but in an unfamiliar style – no assassin would be foolish enough to dress so distinctively, especially in the heart of the Magisterium.

No _good_ assassin, at least.

The woman acknowledged him with a murmured greeting and a polite nod, before turning to the same shelves Alexius had been perusing only moments earlier. He returned the gesture, making a show of returning to his book, but continuing to monitor the stranger out of the corner of his eye.

She was… familiar. Not from the Magisterium, of course, and he couldn’t recall a former student that matched her description. But something in the profile struck him–

– _You’re quite a long way from Tevinter, Alexius._

He blinked. Stared for a moment.

The woman had not spoken, and yet he could have sworn…

“I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”

The woman’s voice – real, this time – broke through his thoughts, and he glanced up to find she had turned towards him, pale blue eyes observing him coolly.

 _Green._ He was certain they had been green. And that scar – dissecting one brow to graze down the rise of her cheek – that hadn’t been there before, had it?

Dazedly, he barely registered as the woman approached, plucking the book from his lax fingers. Turning it in her hands, she clucked her tongue quietly as she flipped through the pages, shaking her head.

“No, you’ll definitely not find anything useful here,” she remarked, giving him a wry smile. “I’ll never know how Severinus got published. We were at the Vyrantium Circle together and there wasn’t a morning that went by she didn’t have to beg me to help her finish her homework. She still managed to fail half her classes too.”

The book closed with an audible snap and she slotted it back into the shelf.

Alexius hesitated for a moment, trying to gather himself. Something felt off – about the woman, about the situation, even about himself. Something nagging at the back of his mind like an old toothache, and suddenly the prospect of returning home to his empty bed didn’t seem quite so unappealing.

He cleared his throat, already stepping around her.

“I’ll take that under advisement. Now, unless there’s something I can help you with, I’m afraid–”

A hand came to rest on his arm, and for as light as the touch was, it stilled him.

“That was _supposed_ to be my line,” the woman replied, meeting his frown with an even stare. “I understand you’ve been looking for me.”

Alexius’ eyebrows rose, not even attempting to mask his confusion now.

“That would be rather difficult, given I don’t believe we’ve met,” he replied archly, stepping out of the woman’s reach.

Maker damn her, she _sighed_ , as if he were the one speaking in riddles!

“No, I suppose you’re right – we still haven’t, in point of fact,” she admitted, extending a hand to him. “I am Senior Enchanter Ana Faber, formerly of the Circle at Kinloch Hold, Royal Enchanter to Queen Anora of Ferelden, and, as of recently, leading Arcane Researcher for the Inquisition. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Magister Alexius. Now, do you remember where you are?”

He had been halfway to returning her gesture, manners too ingrained despite his dwindling humour, when her words began to register.

_Do you remember where you are?_

Alexius laughed, a derisive bark that felt too loud and too uncertain all at once.

“Of course, I remember where–”

_Father, listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?_

The world did not move around him. Everything remained exactly as it was and yet between one breath and the next, everything seemed to _tilt_ , the ground falling out beneath him before it snapped back into focus. He stared, heart-pounding, at the familiar shelves and books; a sight he’d seen a thousand times, it was as familiar to him as his own home. And he knew, as certainly as he knew anything, that none of it was real. This was not the Minrathous Circle.

He hadn’t set foot in Minrathous in months.

His plan had failed. His attempt to rewrite history for the Elder One, erasing Lavellan and her stolen mark from existence, had been over before it had even begun, his own former apprentice stepping out from the shadows to stand with the Inquisition against him. As the weight of memory settled around him, Alexius turned back to the stranger – the woman who looked almost the image of the so-called Herald who had destroyed his last hope of saving Felix. Rage and despair turned to fire and ice in his stomach, and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion, the woman’s name finally sparking a memory.

“I have no patience for a demon’s tricks,” he spat out. “So if Orsino sent you for revenge, I’m afraid you’ll both be disappointed.”

Another sigh and the woman's – Ana's – face turned pensive.

“I’ll admit, it’s not the first time I’ve been called that, but I assure you, I’m no demon or spirit. Just a mage, if one with a few more tricks up my sleeve than most. Orsino didn’t send me, either – frankly, he thought this was a terrible idea. And maybe he’s right.” She stepped towards him, slowly and with her hands held out in front of her, as if he were some frightened child. Or a beast waiting to lash out. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the confusion. I thought meeting somewhere familiar to us both might set you more at ease – but perhaps it’s best if I simply get to the point, yes?”

Alexius studied her a moment, this woman wearing his enemy’s face. It wasn’t beyond a demon to lie about its nature, even when confronted – but at the same time, few were so subtle, and so far, he could not yet determine what she wanted. Perhaps if he went along with this little charade, the stranger would eventually show her hand and he could be done with her.

He gave a curt nod. “Very well. Proceed.”

“Follow me, please.”

Ana stepped past him without waiting for his response – and what would he have said, in any case? – making her way towards the nearest set of heavy oak doors. Beyond should have been a wide, arching corridor, the stones it was built from nearly as old as the Imperium itself, woven with ancient magics that were designed to protect the building when it was once a temple to the Old Gods. Instead, as the doors swung open at barely a touch, they were greeted with a barren landscape of rock and fog, bathed in washed-out, sickly green light.

That certainly confirmed some of his suspicions at least. He'd ventured into the raw Fade enough to recognise it on sight. As for the rest… he eyed the woman now walking a step ahead of him. If she told the truth and was, in fact, a mage as she said, then that raised questions regarding her apparent control over their environment. Blood magic could achieve such things if focused properly, but there were alternatives as well. But what would a Tevinter _somniari_ be doing in Ferelden of all places?

It would explain why Orsino would have tried to hide her, at least. Had the Elder One known…

“How much do you remember?” Ana asked, only sparing him a glance over her shoulder as they continued on through the featureless waste.

Alexius frowned, jaw tight.

“Does it matter?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t.”

He made a dismissive noise at that. “I remember enough,” he muttered, then after a moment added, “You work for the Inquisition, yes?”

Ana hummed in affirmative.

“You bear a striking resemblance to their Herald,” he continued, hoping to spur her into revealing something he might be able to use.

That got a quiet snort, followed by a wry little smile. “That does happen with twins.”

Alexius raised an eyebrow at that. “And yet she introduced herself as Lavellan – a Dalish name, I’m told? And you speak as if a citizen of the Imperium, but _your_ name does not fit there either.”

“So, you still have _some_ wits about you,” she remarked, glancing back at him with a raised eyebrow and far too much amusement for his tastes. “That’s promising, at least.”

“And you are no nearer to the point of this little pantomime,” Alexius shot back. “ _Is_ there a point to this? Or is this merely an elaborate excuse to gloat?”

“We’re here.”

Ana came to a stop, and at her words Alexius followed, peering around them to try and identify where exactly ‘here’ was. In truth, he barely noticed the difference between the empty wasteland of the Fade and the land surrounding them now. The ground was dry and frostbitten, what little grass there was growing coarse and yellowed under his feet. Above them, the sky hung heavy and grey, a threat of rain with no promised relief, and ahead, he could make out shapes in the fog – hollow shells of houses and buildings, half-rotten and abandoned.

The air reeked of death and decay, every breath turning to lead in his chest.

“This is Lothering,” Ana said in answer to his unspoken question, her expression sombre. “Or it was, at least. One of the first civilian losses during the Fifth Blight. There were others, of course – we lost the port city of Gwaren and most of its Terynr, as well as much of the Southern Bannorn – but here was where the darkspawn horde hit first. Most of the people here were farmers, merchants, labourers; folk who did not have the coin or the resources to flee in time. Those who survived the Blight have wanted to return home, but for years, the land was too tainted for anything to live here.”

Alexius listened, only half-hearing the words. He was familiar with the events of the Fifth Blight – it was the only Blight in living memory after all, and in the past few years, he’d tracked down every scrap of information he could find, searching for some clue or hint he’d missed that might have helped his own research. The records had not skimped on grim details, but there was always a level of remove between the written word and seeing something with your own eyes. Despite everything, something in him ached – a distant sympathy, perhaps, for the unknown families torn apart as his had been.

At his sides, his hands clenched into fists as that ache and his own bitter, and yes, selfish fury quietly warred in his chest. Oblivious to his conflict, Ana continued.

“One of the first things Queen Anora tasked me with when I was appointed to her court was to begin research into whether or not the effects of the Blight on the land could be reversed. And while it’s taken the better part of ten years, we have managed to achieve some results.”

Ana lifted an arm, gesturing towards the empty village and as he watched, time seemed to shift forward in fits and bursts, the dark clouds dissipating as colour began to creep back into the world around them. Tufts of green grass sprouted to life under shafts of weak sunlight, the air lightened, and while the wreckage of the village remained, when time settled around them, it was veiled in life – thick green vines and moss covering the mouldering lumber, and here and there, bright patches of pale flowers dotted collapsing doorways and fences.

Forgetting himself for a moment, Alexius moved closer, eager fascination overwhelming everything else in a shadow of his old life.

“How? None of the lands affected by previous Blights have ever fully recovered!” he murmured, half to himself as he crouched to peer at one particular cluster of flowers near an old signpost. Up close, he could see the heart of each blossom was vibrant red and orange, the smell sweet and light. It wasn’t a plant he was familiar with – some blossom native to Ferelden, perhaps?

“Most lands afflicted by a Blight actually degrade further over time,” Ana agreed, appearing at his side. She kneeled down beside him in front of the flowers, plucking one from the patch, turning it over in her fingers. “Ferelden was actually a lucky test case – the Blight here lasted barely a full year, so the damage was nowhere near as sustained as in other Blights. But our main breakthrough came from this flower – it’s the only plant known to grow in Blighted ground, and after a little digging, I found out it’s been used before as a folk remedy against Blight sickness in livestock. It has a few names, but the most common is Andraste’s Grace.”

It felt as though Alexius’ heart had stopped in his chest, his gauntleted hand freezing on the stem of the blossom.

“It’s a cure?” he managed out.

“Only partially,” Ana admitted. “While we’ve found that planting it in tainted land does eventually help the land to heal, in animals it appears to only stabilise the spread of the sickness, stalling it for a time. I’ve seen mabari, for example, live long and otherwise healthy lives after being treated, but the Blight does catch up with them eventually.”

“And people?”

He’d forced himself to look up, to watch Ana's face as she spoke. At his question, she didn't meet his eyes, mouth set in a thin line as she gave the faintest shake of her head.

“It helps, but by no more than a few months at best,” she admitted quietly, finally looking at him with solemn eyes.

Alexius closed his eyes, swallowing back the resurgence of grief that tasted all the more bitter for the foolish flush of hope that had preceded it. Of course, there wasn’t a cure, least of all in this backwater country. If he hadn’t been able to find a solution on his own with all the resources of the Imperium at his disposal, how could he have expected some southerner to have succeeded where he had failed?

Pathetic, really, how eager he was to grasp at straws now. Anything to distract him from his failure – and from what came next.

He stood, uncaring as his gauntlets caught against the fragile blossoms, shredding them from their stems.

“You want my research,” he stated flatly, guessing now at the reason she’d brought him here.

To her credit, Ana remained unperturbed by the toneless accusation. Had likely suspected it, he supposed.

“Queen Anora was happy to hand over everything seized from the Venatori at Redcliffe to the Inquisition,” she replied, straightening up. “We have your research, and I’ve already managed to make headway in interpreting some of it. But it would go faster with your assistance.”

He could feel the sneer curling at his lips as he glared at her – who was this woman to ask anything of him, especially when her own sister had robbed him of the last chance to save Felix’s life? Did she think this was over? That with the mages now under their wing all would go back to how it was? Alexius might not have known the full details of the Elder One’s plans, but he did not doubt his own plots were only a fraction of a greater whole. No, events were already in motion and all that his failure had done was delay the inevitable.

He advanced on her, fury growing as she didn’t even blink, only tilting her gaze up to watch him as he towered over her.

“You’re either foolishly arrogant or exceedingly naive," he snarled. “My work was done to save the life of my son, a young man your Inquisition has doomed to death! Why would you think for a moment that I would willingly give you my help – or have you forgotten I would have happily written your sister out of existence altogether?”

For a long moment, Ana stared up at him with a look that reminded him of tales of slow-moving glaciers drifting through the Frozen Seas, cold and inevitable and utterly unyielding.

“Lord Alexius, I am not here on behalf of the Inquisition, or of my sister. I am here because you have made more advances in treating the Blight in a handful of years than hundreds of mages and scholars have in nearly ten times that long. I am not foolish enough to let this opportunity go to waste, regardless of your actions or motivations,” she replied, at last, every word as clear and hard as diamond even though she had not raised her voice. “Most infected die within days, weeks at best – Felix has had years thanks to you. And he may have more, but the only way I can make that happen is _if you help me_.”

Alexius nearly flinched as he felt a hand take his own, but whether it was the dream or perhaps simply because she willed it, he did not pull away as she lifted it between them. With delicate fingers, Ana placed the surviving blossom in the palm of his glove, closing his hand over it with her own.

"Consider my offer – I'll expect your answer when I return," she said, stepping back, and despite the gloves, he almost felt the loss of the warmth of her hand. "Now, if I’m right, you’ll be arriving at Haven shortly. So until we meet again, I think it’s best if you _wake up_.”

He started, blinking.

Around him, the carriage rocked with the steady beat of the horses upfront. It was dark, far darker than the mired gloom of Lothering, and through a window, he could just make out the thin crescent of the new moon overhead. It shone with a pale light, barely highlighting the snow-capped mountains passing by – or the armour of the Templar guards flanking him.

There was a rasp of metal as they each turned towards him, alerted by his waking, the eyes behind their helms silent and accusing as he resettled himself. He paid them no mind, much as he had paid little mind to any of the faceless armoured bodies that had surrounded him for the past few days. He was being taken to Haven, on loan to the Inquisition from the Fereldan Crown, to be questioned regarding the Venatori and the Elder One. Once he had given them as much information as he had – or once they'd determined there was nothing useful to gain from him – he would be sent back to Denerim to face whatever judgement awaited him. Personally, he didn't hold out hope for much beyond a quick death – it would be a kinder fate than whatever the Elder One would have him face.

And Felix… Felix was probably on a boat bound to the Imperium by now, permitted to leave freely in repayment for his assistance to the Inquisition, on the condition he did not return.

The dream lingered in the edges of his mind, still feeling all too clear and almost real – but it was nothing more than the furious imaginings of a grief-filled mind. A last attempt to comfort himself from the truth that he would not see his son alive again.

He let his head hang, already tired despite his rest and tempted to try and chase the echoes of the dream when through a scant patch of moonlight, something caught his eye. Something pale, caught in the folds of his glove.

A single, white flower.


	3. Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gritting his teeth and reigning back the urge to tell Orsino exactly where he could put his welcome, Alexius sat back on the bench in his cell, closing his eyes and feeling the dank cold of the stone wall seep through the harsh woollen robes at his back. Slowly, his irritation faded, leaving familiar, empty despair creeping in its wake, the chittering shrieks from the other side of the Veil growing just a little louder. What did it matter? He’d already known Felix had intentionally sabotaged the Elder One’s plans – what difference did it make that Orsino was involved?
> 
> It mattered, he realised, because he’d thought he’d seen through Orsino’s ploys and evasions. He’d thought he’d had the upper hand.
> 
> Now, he wondered if he’d ever had it.
> 
> -
> 
> Trust is a hard commodity to find, especially when one party is locked in a dungeon cell. Secrets are traded and unlikely bargains made.

“So, you say you know nothing of the red lyrium deposits? Or how they appeared at the site of the Conclave?”

Alexius shook his head.

“As I said earlier, no.” He attempted a smirk, although there was no humour to it. “Above my station, I’m afraid.”

Sister Leliana’s stare was hard as flint and nearly as unwavering. An accomplished player in the games of politics and influence in his own homeland, Alexius could concede the Inquisition’s spymaster likely had talent enough to survive even the deadly machinations of the Imperium. The current interrogation session had been going for hours yet – or felt like it, at least – and not once had she flinched or shown a sign of weariness.

 _He_ , on the other hand, was becoming rather tired of the whole rigmarole.

Rolling into Haven in the last few hours before sunrise, Alexius had been bustled from the carriage into the Chantry building and down to his newly-assigned cell before most of the village’s occupants had even risen from their beds. It was a clever move, given he was hardly ignorant to the hostility most southerners held towards his homeland. And there was also the fact he was now the most visible (and _accessible_ ) scapegoat for the troubles many of these people had suffered. That none of his guards or the scout who brought his meagre tray of food had taken it upon themselves to enact their own justice upon him likely spoke more of their fear of reprimand than of any mercy.

It had been several days since then; each one an empty tedium of watching the flickering lamps burn down while the mountain cold numbed him to the bone and whispering shadows pressing against the Veil around him. In between the stretches of empty dark, he was called on to mechanically respond to a veritable onslaught of questions. Who was the Elder One? Who else served him? What were his plans? Where was he now? Alexius could answer some of their questions, at least in part, but others not at all. He had considered resisting, hiding what he did know, but what would be the point? His fate was sealed, as was Felix’s – perhaps this way, he’d be sent on to Denerim sooner rather than later, and his bloody end could be reached all the quicker.

He had had no further dreams – none beyond the usual demons re-enacting his every failure before his horrified gaze, at least. There also had been no sign or mention of the elven woman or her curious offer, and he was wary of bringing it up. If not for the tiny blossom, stowed safely away in the pocket of his robes, he might have written off the whole incident altogether. As it was, he still couldn’t be completely certain senility wasn’t setting in.

Sister Leliana leaned back in her chair, turning her attention to her notes. Her expression was impassive as she flipped through the pages of names, meeting locations, dates and aliases; the paltry sum of his involvement with this doomed affair.

“I confess, I’m still curious how you did it,” she remarked after a few moments more, eyes still scanning the papers in her lap.

Alexius held back a sigh, waiting as he sat on the bench that served as his cot, the only item of furniture in the sparse little chamber. It was a leading statement, a tool to tempt him into bragging about his skill or expertise, and in doing so reveal some shred of information he'd been too careful to let slip otherwise. Easier to say nothing, and wait for Nightingale to get to her point.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona, I mean,” she continued, after a silence interspersed with rustling paper. “She’s notoriously stubborn, and even now seems uncertain exactly _why_ she agreed to your offer in the first place – you must have made quite the pitch to sway her.”

It took conscious thought not to glance towards his now-bared hand. The Elder One’s gift had mysteriously gone missing ahead of his final confrontation with the Herald – given he now knew Felix had been conspiring with Dorian and the Herald against him, he had his suspicions as to the culprit. In any case, they had already thoroughly checked him for evidence of blood magic before leaving Redcliffe. Although they hadn’t been able to find any proof – he was too well-practised in covering his tracks for that – he didn’t doubt they still suspected the truth.

He could tell them, he supposed. He had no great pride for his actions, and who knew, perhaps that zealot Commander of theirs or the stern-faced Seeker would strike him down without even bothering to return him to Denerim. But something stilled his tongue. A lingering shame at the idea of proving right those trite cliches about the Imperium, after all his years spent trying to show himself better than all that. No one started out intending to become a cautionary tale, after all.

Realising he had been silent too long, Alexius managed a shrug.

“I hardly need to tell you that desperate people make poor decisions, Sister,” he replied. “I was simply there to take advantage of the fact.”

Her mouth hardened into a thin line, her tone turning clipped.

“Yes, I suppose you were.”

The session ended there, with the regular reminder that Sister Leliana or one of her agents would be back to resume the whole charade tomorrow. And then he was left in the cold and the dark, with only the guards on the other side of the dungeon door for company.

Occasionally, Alexius could hear them talk; murmured voices echoing off of the stone walls. Nothing of any real interest, at least not to him – complaints about shift rotations, the standard of meals, and a dozen other trivialities that made up soldiers’ gossip. Through them, he’d learned that the rebel mages had arrived, and their status as free allies had caused something of a stir, which was hardly surprising. He’d also heard Dorian’s name once or twice, filtering through the whispering malaise in his ear. He’d stayed on at Haven, from what Alexius could tell, although from the sounds of it, few of the Inquisition’s people trusted his intentions. Had he been able to find the energy to care, their dismissive sneers might have angered him – bitter though he was, he couldn’t deny Dorian had already proven himself a far better man than he, or Halward, had ever given him credit for.

Not that he’d be able to tell him as much. He had no other visitors, other than the spymaster or her agents – the only visitation he’d been allowed had been back in Redcliffe, a scant few minutes with Felix before his son was due to depart. The meeting had been… strained. Felix had looked at him in a sad and guarded way he’d never dreamed of seeing on his son’s face. Even now, weeks later, that face haunted him, aching in ways no amount of cold or rough treatment could match.

No, even if it were possible, Alexius doubted Dorian would visit, even if just to tell him what a fool he’d been. And he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted him to.

-

It was nearly two weeks into his incarceration and nearing the end of what Alexius perceived as his usefulness to the Inquisition when he finally saw a familiar face.

“I’m beginning to think it was easier getting an audience with you back at Redcliffe.”

Alexius barely lifted his head as Orsino swept into the room. He was even paler in the lamplight then he remembered, and the stark shadows from the lamp reminded him briefly of their last conversation before… _everything_.

Had it really only been a matter of weeks? It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Yes, well, my schedule has been somewhat full of late,” he replied, not even bothering to glance over or muster a ghost of his customary bite. His voice sounded rough to his own ears, like a hinge gone to rust from lack of use.

A rustle of cloth drew closer, long robes skimming the stone floor, and even with the enchanted manacles around his wrists dampening his magic, he could feel the dark shimmer of mana he’d come to associate with the First Enchanter. In a moment, he became acutely aware of his situation – shackled, bound, to all intents and purposes quite helpless, and now in the company of a mage of uncommon talent and more than enough reason to wish him ill.

Alexius’ eyes darted towards the dungeon door, stomach sinking as he realised the familiar shadows of the guards were absent on the other side.

He took a breath against the clenching fear in his gut. Strange now, to have some piece of him still desperate to live despite everything he’d done wrong; or maybe he didn’t trust Orsino to make his end as painless as an executioner’s blade. Mustering as impassive a mask as he could manage, he finally looked up at the other man.

“Come to wreak bloody vengeance, then?”

Orsino arched an elegant eyebrow, peering down at him from the other side of the bars. He seemed to loom over him here, although it was probably nothing more than a trick of the shadows.

“Would that be your preference? Because while I’m sure I can oblige, I’m reluctant to get your guards into the sort of trouble that would certainly follow.”

Alexius made a noise that might have once been a laugh.

“I think they’d be forgiven,” he rasped. “Besides, I assume the only reason the guards let you past is because you have promised to do what their superiors won’t.”

Orsino gave a quiet snort, folding his arms over his narrow chest.

"Believe it or not, but before your arrival, I had managed to gather some goodwill for the mages in Redcliffe," Orsino remarked. "One of your guards used to live there – I treated his mother for a bad fever two winters back. A good turn can go a long way, in the right hands."

Alexius resisted the urge to roll his eyes, relaxing a little despite himself. Perhaps Orsino did still wish him harm, but this trading of barbed words was at least more familiar ground.

“Ah, so I should be flattered? Or are you always so frivolous with spending your favours?”

“You assume I don’t have plenty to spare. Besides, you’re hardly one to talk – you can thank me that you haven’t been executed as a blood mage yet.”

Orsino dipped a slender hand into one of the pockets by his belt, drawing out something small and glittering.

The Elder One’s ring.

Alexius felt a sudden flush of indignant fury, almost heady in its intensity after the hollow apathy of his recent days.

“How did you–”

“Do you really want the answer to that?”

Something in Orsino’s tone – reluctant, almost _guilty_ – made Alexius pause. Orsino couldn’t have gotten it alone, he’d never been in his rooms except when Alexius himself was there. Few had been, except for…

“Felix.” Alexius had to take a moment to bite his tongue against saying something ill-advised. He narrowed his eyes at the elven man, his tone as frigid as the air around them as he remarked, “I wasn’t aware you two were friendly.”

Orsino’s own look was equally cold. “Your son needed someone to help him sneak in and out of the castle, and luckily I have plenty of experience in getting where I wish unnoticed. I warned him of what this bauble was likely capable of – and what would happen to you if anyone from the Inquisition found it on your person. So, as I said – you’re welcome.”

Gritting his teeth and reigning back the urge to tell Orsino exactly where he could put his _welcome_ , Alexius sat back on the bench in his cell, closing his eyes and feeling the dank cold of the stone wall seep through the harsh woollen robes at his back. Slowly, his irritation faded, leaving familiar, empty despair creeping in its wake, the chittering shrieks from the other side of the Veil growing just a little louder. What did it matter? He’d already known Felix had intentionally sabotaged the Elder One’s plans – what difference did it make that Orsino was involved?

It mattered, he realised, because he’d thought he’d seen through Orsino’s ploys and evasions. He’d thought he’d had the upper hand.

Now, he wondered if he’d _ever_ had it.

“I’m surprised you kept it,” he said at last, voice barely above a murmur. “Given this… _Inquisition_ seems little better than your Chantry, I doubt they’ll be any more kind to you than I.”

“Perhaps,” Orsino admitted. “But this magic is older than most, and I’d be doing myself and our allies a disservice not to research it properly. And I’ve never been one to dismiss a back-up plan. Which does remind me…”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alexius watched as the ring disappeared back into its assigned pocket, while out of another, deeper pocket in his robes, Orsino brought out a carefully folded envelope. Moving closer, he held the letter out through the bars of the cell.

“Your son asked me to pass a letter along to you – I believe he’s also tried to send one via the normal channels, but he confessed he suspected it likely wouldn’t reach you.”

Alexius stood, bones aching and chains shifting as he approached before reaching out with unsteady fingers to take the sealed envelope. His throat tightened as he flipped it over, seeing Felix’s delicate script emblazoned against the pale parchment. He held it firm enough the tips of his fingers turned white, but he hesitated to open it – he burned to read it now, but didn’t trust himself not to weep and he’d be damned if he had an audience.

“I suppose I can thank you for that, at least,” he managed, voice barely above a croak.

He half-expected Orsino to take his leave – clearly, he wasn’t here to enact some sort of vengeful plot against him, although he’d hardly expected the kindness.

But instead of leaving, the other man hesitated, lingering beyond the bars. Curious, Alexius glanced back at him and perhaps it was simply a trick of the flickering lamps, but it seemed there was a brief flicker of wariness across his features, that same reluctance from before. Then it was gone.

“The Inquisition’s chief researcher is one of Ferelden’s leading experts on the Blight. I understand she’s made you an offer regarding your own research.”

His chest felt tight, like heavy iron bands strapped around his ribs. There it was, proof that it hadn’t all been a dream. Or it had, but not one of his own making, at least. There was a giddy feeling of almost relief that he fought to tamp back down – no doubt, the woman had told him what he wanted to hear to get his assistance. But if there was even a chance…

Glancing at the letter once more, Alexius raised an eyebrow at Orsino, considering. Despite Orsino's earlier insistence, it seemed he knew far more about many things than he had originally let on. What else did he know?

“She has, although I’ve yet to tell her my decision,” he admitted, before glancing towards the door. No sign of the guards' return yet, but he lowered his voice regardless. “A wise decision, not to admit to the Tevinter cultist you had access to a Dreamer. And one from the Imperium, no less.”

Orsino’s expression shifted, turning carefully blank, like the masks worn in the Orlesian plays Felix had dragged him along to once upon a time. If Alexius was any guess, it almost certainly meant the elven man was _furious_.

“It would be,” Orsino replied, tone carefully light even above the threatening hum of magic in the air. “It would be wiser still to keep that information carefully guarded – for your own sake.”

He murmured his acknowledgement, ignoring the underlying threat although he stowed the information away for later.

“And I assume your ‘valued friend’, the one who warned you about my homeland – they’re one and the same, yes?”

Orsino merely raised an eyebrow, which he supposed was answer enough. Alexius stared a moment more at the letter, both eager to read it and terrified of what it held. Because it came down to a choice now, didn’t it? To agree to this offer from a woman who raised more questions than answers, with no guarantee of where it would lead or even if the results would benefit Felix – or to decline, and seal for certain his son’s fate.

“Do you trust her?”

The words came quiet and unbidden, almost surprising himself and certainly surprising Orsino, who looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head.

“Excuse me?”

Alexius sighed, brushing a thumb against the worn paper.

“Just answer me – in my place, would you trust her word?”

Orsino stared at him for a long moment, piercing him with a dark-eyed look that seemed to see past him and _through_ him all at once. And then something… softened. Nothing perceptible, and later Alexius wouldn’t even be able to pinpoint exactly what shifted, but it seemed there was a hint of understanding that hadn’t been there before.

If he was feeling whimsical, he might even say it was the look of a man who’d had his own taste of desperation.

“Yes,” he said finally, and the tension in the air seemed to lessen as he stepped back, turning back towards the door. “I would.”

-

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. After Orsino’s departure, Alexius had wasted no time in turning his attention to the letter from his son.

In some ways, he wished he hadn’t.

He could have withstood Felix’s anger or bitterness at watching his father squander the last few months they might have had on a fool’s errand. Even cold dismissal might have sat better, and he had opened the letter fully expecting to confirm his fears that he has ruined the last memories his son would have of him.

Instead, he got an apology – and a goodbye.

Despite everything, Felix asked for his forgiveness for the betrayal, well-meant though it was, and asked him to extend that same forgiveness to Dorian if he could, because his former apprentice might cover his better nature with bluster and talk but he still cared deeply. Felix added that he intended to speak at the Magisterium to warn their countrymen of the poison of the Venatori, a last attempt to protect their home from the Elder One’s influence. And while he made no mention of his health, or whether he would be able to secure an alternative supply to the medicines that might grant him a precious few months more, there was a finality laced through every turn of phrase that felt like a knife wound in his chest. Felix had long-since accepted his fate, it seemed, and now it no longer mattered whether his father could do the same.

Alexius read and reread the letter over and over again, eyes red and raw from grief and the poor light until he’d finally curled up in his cot, the letter tucked close against the gaping hollow of his chest.

At some point, exhaustion must have gotten its claws in because the next he was aware, the cold of the mountains had closed in around him and it felt as though his very breath was freezing in his lungs. He thought, for a moment, that he could hear distant screeching, a noise that struck him to the bone. It seemed to circle him, drawing closer like a vulture circling its prey until something seemed to _pull_ and then–

He stood in an unfamiliar room, in his own robes rather than the rough wool garments he’d been given to wear in his cell. It was pleasantly warm here, and the room was cast in a rosy glow by the fire roaring in the hearth, along with several sconces lit around the walls. Tall shelves lined the walls, weighed down with seemingly endless rows of books and bottles, along with half a dozen delicate contraptions that he vaguely recognised as tools for measuring and redirecting ambient Fade energy. There were looming, arched windows to one side, looking out over an unfamiliar city, and the buildings beyond were cast gold in the oncoming dusk.

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d finally nod off.”

Alexius turned at the familiar voice, finding Enchanter Ana sat behind a large oak desk at the other side of the room. She looked much as she had when he’d last seen her in the dream-gloom of Lothering, although the robes had been exchanged for more practical travelling leathers and furs in a Fereldan style – still black, curiously. To complete the picture, there was a rather fierce-looking grey mabari curled up in front of the desk by the fire – it gave him only a cursory glance as he turned, rumbling softly before returning to its previous position.

Alexius frowned, approaching to take the seat on the near side of the desk – which he was quite certain hadn’t been there until he’d noticed it. It was easier to recognise the dream for what it was this time, although the solidity of the world around them still unnerved him slightly. Spirits and demons could recreate the waking world but they always did so somewhat imperfectly; now, though, he could only barely tell the difference. It was… fascinating, really.

Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. Or that he was grateful for the distraction.

“I was rather expecting our next meeting to be in person,” he admitted instead.

“So was I, but we’ve been somewhat waylaid – apparently some Avvar warlord has decided to kidnap our scouts and challenge my sister to a _duel_ ,” Ana replied, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. “Have you ever visited the Fallow Mire, Lord Alexius?”

“Not to my memory.”

“Good. It’s miserable and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” She paused, considering. “Well, _maybe_ Teagan.”

Alexius raised an eyebrow at that. “Given how dour most of this backwater is, that must be saying something.”

If Ana was insulted by his assessment of her adopted home, she didn’t show it, only shaking her head with a hint of a smile.

“It has some selling points, but I’ll admit it’s an acquired taste.”

Her casual acknowledgement tugged at something that had been niggling at him, growing since Orsino’s thinly-veiled warning. Leaning back in his own chair, he watched the woman in front of him carefully as he spoke.

“I suppose you’re in the better position to tell, but I’m afraid I’m still a little unclear as to exactly why that’s the case. Tell me, how exactly does a _laetan_ mage earn a place in Fereldan’s royal court?”

“By not telling them I’m _laetan_ , obviously,” she replied. “Or I was, at any rate. Given it’s been about twenty years since I set foot in the Imperium, I think my citizenship may be questionable at this point.”

“And your sister?”

“Well, she was _soporati_ , but I imagine her situation would be much the same.”

Alexius levelled a withering look at her, one that once would have sent many an apprentice scrambling for cover.

“That wasn’t what I meant and you know it.”

That drew a flicker of a smirk. “Yes, I know. But you’re quite fun to tease.”

He glowered at that, some ghost of his pride still capable of chafing at the gentle mockery.

“You’re being awfully trusting,” he pointed out sharply. “What’s to stop me telling your little secret the next time I’m brought for questioning?”

“Because if you did, then I would likely no longer be in a position to help you,” Ana replied matter-of-factly. “Meaning you can definitely say goodbye to any hope of advancing your research in time to benefit Felix.”

The corners of his mouth pulled down in a grimace. “You’re assuming I even believe your offer.”

She watched him, a faint line forming in the space between her brows before she tilted her head, humming in acknowledgement.

“I suppose that’s fair. But seeing as I’ve given you information that would certainly ruin me politically, and most likely destroy everything I’ve been working for over the last ten years, I’d hoped a little trust might be in order. But if that’s not enough, then you can walk out that door and that will be the end of this,” she said, and at her gesture, Alexius looked to one side to find a small oak door where there had been none before, nestled between the shelves.

Was it that simple? For the second time that day, he felt how steeply out of his depth he'd become, how perilous the situation was. He might not be shackled here, but there was no doubt he could be if the woman behind the desk wished it. There were stories of _somniari_ assassins, Dreamers who slaughtered their enemies while they slept. If what Ana said was true, if revealing her origins would be as disastrous as she said, why not end him here?

Why was she doing this at all?

He must have spoken out loud – or maybe she knew his thoughts. Either way, Alexius was drawn back at her quiet sigh.

“I’d rather not discuss the details,” she said quietly, mouth curling in a wry smile. “Let’s just say I have a debt to pay and leave it at that?"

Her gaze was solemn and unflinching in the dim light – and perhaps a little tired. Studying her for a moment, Alexius began to suspect either she was a far more skilled liar than he was accustomed to dealing with – or she was telling him the truth.

He let out a breath, already knowing his answer but still feeling the need to make his final argument, a warning to himself as much as her.

“And what of the Elder One?” he asked, and his voice sounded defeated even to his own ears. “You can’t think this is over. He may not have the rebel mages, but he has power beyond anything your Inquisition can muster. What good will any of this do?”

“That, I'm afraid, isn't something I can tell you," Ana admitted, standing from the desk with a sidelong look as she added, "For several reasons."

He frowned, started to reply – then stopped. It was fair, he supposed. It wasn’t an answer, but perhaps there wasn’t one and he was tired of fighting the point. For a moment, guilt and grief pulled at him and he thought of Felix, facing these last bitter weeks or months alone and he cursed himself for letting it come to this – begging for scraps of hope from strangers who held every card while he had none.

He was snapped from his thoughts by a noise, a high, desperate sort of shriek from somewhere beyond the room – all too similar to the shrill calls he’d heard a thousand times in his dreams. He turned towards the door, eyeing it warily.

“Despair demons,” Ana said what he already knew as she rifled through the nearest bookcase with her back to him. “They were circling you earlier. I wouldn’t worry for now – they can’t get in unless I let them.”

He eyed her warily. “And if I leave?”

She gave him a frustrated look as she turned back to him with a small stack of books, setting them on the desk. “Frankly, I’d rather not deal with the headache but I suppose it’s your call to make.”

Alexius frowned, leaning forward to pick up one of the tomes – he was surprised to recognise it as one of his journals, much like the ones he’d used to chronicle his own studies of the Blight. But then, everything that existed in the waking world had the potential to exist in the Fade, did it not? And in the hands of a Dreamer…

“So, I’m afraid I’m going to need that answer,” Ana’s voice drew him back, and she stood near him now, leaning back against the desk. Arms folded over her chest, her expression was inscrutable.

Alexius glanced back at the book in his hand. What choice did he have?

“I’ll help you. But if I find you’ve gone back on your word…”

It was an empty threat and they both knew it.

“Understood,” Ana replied anyway. She held her hand out for the book. “Shall we begin?”


End file.
